


I'd Fall For You Again and Again

by ChasingLyrics



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cas to the rescue, Child Abuse, Child Dean Winchester, Dean ends up in hell but it's not for long and cas is to the rescue, Dean goes to Hell, Don't know if i'm tagging this right, Episode: s04e01 Lazarus Rising, F/M, Follows the show sort of, Growing Up Together, Hell, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kid Castiel (Supernatural), Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Sam Winchester, M/M, Mystery Spot, Physical Abuse, Protective Castiel, Teen Castiel (Supernatural), Teen Dean Winchester, Teen Sam Winchester, Up to season 4, Young Castiel (Supernatural), Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, canon related deaths, eventual destiel, sort of canon, sort of mcd
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-09-21
Packaged: 2019-03-11 01:21:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13513800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingLyrics/pseuds/ChasingLyrics
Summary: What if Castiel had been watching over Dean Winchester for years? From the very beginning? Before they became hunters? Before Yellow-Eyes put his foot in their lives? What would it be like to have an angel watching over you?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this is my first posted multi-chapter fic, so please let me know if I've not tagged it properly! It loosely follows the canon stories set out between seasons 1-3, so there is mystery spot and Dean going to Hell. Hence the tag "sort of MCD". If you want/need to change that tag then let me know. I don't want to offend anyone but I'm still learning! I also don't know exactly when I'll update. I'm in my final six months of my undergrad and should in theory be focusing on all my assignments!

Castiel stood in the corner of a room filled with small infants kept in clear boxes and positioned before a large window. He didn’t understand why his superior Anael had given him the task of watching out for one of the new born infants. The crying of several of the infants hurt his ears even as he moved through the boxes, looking for the name of the infant he was charged with looking out for.

The tiny baby was swaddled in a yellow blanket, arms breaking free as he arched his back and craned his neck, clear blue eyes looking at the angel upside down. Slowly, the little mouth twitched into a gummy smile surprising the angel as he thought Anael would keep him hidden. Carefully, Castiel extended his hand, a fingertip running lightly over the infant’s cheek, causing a gurgle.

“Hello Dean Winchester.”

The baby began gumming at his fist, body relaxing as Castiel let his palm settle on the infant boy’s head. Castiel did not understand how a new-born’s stare could be as intense as it was, the blue eyes holding him in place even as he realized that nurses were moving through the room, shushing the crying infants, barely glancing at little Dean Winchester, only remarking that he was a nosey child, craning his neck to follow Castiel as the angel moved out of the way of the moving professionals around them.

“He’s beautiful isn’t he John?” Castiel looked up to see a couple through the glass paned wall. The woman was sitting in a chair with wheels, looking exhausted, strands of blonde hair escaping the messy knot on the top of her head. The dark-haired man stood over her, leaning on the chair’s handle-bars, leaning forward to see what his wife was looking at.

“He’s very small.”

“All babies are small John,” the woman explained, “He’s just a little smaller that’s all. He’ll grow.” She looked at her husband, “You were that small once.” He conceded the point, kissing his wife on the top of her head.

“Well then Mary, as long as he gets bigger,” he kissed her head a second time, “I’m proud of you.” Mary rolled her eyes, clearly looking around her for a medical professional to ask to pick up her newborn son. The angel hovered, watching a nurse carry the infant over to his parents, his mother reaching for her son as soon as she saw him being brought over. John stayed quiet, watching Mary cradle their child to her chest, her index finger running gently down his cheek.

The baby boy, curled into his mother’s chest, floppy head supported on her shoulder and his blue eyes falling shut, soft little inhales against Mary’s skin had her falling even more in love with him. She gently lifted a hand, holding it gently between her thumb and index finger, kissing his delicate fingers one by one.

“He’s perfect John,” she whispered. It didn’t matter to her than he’d been born a few weeks earlier than he should have, her near-panic yesterday when she’d begun having contractions now forgotten with her baby in her arms. The doctors didn’t think he’d have to spend long in the incubator, just a couple of days before they could take him home. There was silence for almost an hour, John leaning against the wall, watching his wife and child but making no move to hold him. Mary noticed almost immediately when the baby woke once again, struggling to free his arms once more from the swaddling blanket.

“Hi Dean,” Mary said softly, shifting her hold on him so that he was cradled with his head against her elbow, her fingers loosening the blanket so that her son could try to wave his arms around once more. Castiel felt something as Mary held the infant, a nurse approaching to see if Mary wanted to try feeding the infant. When she agreed, they pushed her chair into a separate room, where the lights were dimmed and there were several comfy chairs, one of which, Mary was helped into after she refused to let go of her baby.

John watched from the doorway, blocking Castiel’s view as Mary breastfed her child. So, the angel turned back to the room filled with infants, moving between the plastic cots, his wings trailing over the small babies, quieting them as they cried. One baby caught his eye, a little girl wrapped in a lavender blanket in the cot next to where little Dean had been. He could sense the sickness in her, her heart unable to pump properly because of a hole in one of the muscle walls. Swallowing, he took fate into his hands and extended an index finger to lightly touch the girl’s forehead, between her dark eyebrows. Grace flowed from his chest, down his arm and through the child’s body, searching out the issues and fixing her heart, before doctors even realized that it was there and before it caused her serious harm.

Nurses and doctors in the room were confused at how silent the babies had fallen, though most of them were awake. As they checked vitals and diapers, they found the small girl named Lydia was staring at the ceiling, looking far better than she had at her last check that morning. She’d been on the ward for two weeks because doctors were struggling to find what was wrong with her. A nurse brought a sleeping Dean Winchester back after he’d been fed, laying him in the next cot before adjusting the blanket and hat so that he was once more properly swaddled.

The staff noticed over the next few days that the sick babies, the ones who’d been on the ward for months even, were suddenly better, healthy for the first time in their short lives. One nurse looked down at the cot in the middle of all the miracles, blue-green eyes blinking up at the ceiling, oblivious to the nurse watching as the baby fought to break free of the swaddling blankets, back arching and neck craned as though the infant was looking for something.

“You’re different from the others,” she whispered, the baby stiffening before relaxing, eyes searching for the voice. He seemed more aware than a baby should be, “Little Dean Winchester,” she reached into the cot, scooping up the infant, watching his little face screw up in silent protest at being disturbed, “Why do I think you have something to do with everyone getting better huh?” she murmured, reaching for the tiny outfit his mother had supplied so that he could be dressed to go home.

She kept talking as she changed his diaper, carefully removed the cannula from his skinny forearm and dressed him in his first proper outfit, watching the way his eyes widened as her tone and inflection changed. The little boy’s face screwed up as he wriggled on the changing table once she was finished, clearly uncomfortable in the clothes. With a soft smile, the nurse swaddled him back into the blankets, watching the way he calmed for several moments before wiggling his arms free. She laughed, cradling the baby’s head to her shoulder where his tiny fingers wrapped in her hair.

“You mister are going to be trouble, I can just tell,” she told him, spotting his parents hovering excitedly on the other side of the glass window. Grabbing the pack of diapers and formula the night nurses had prepared for him, the nurse carried the infant out to his parents, guiding them through putting him through the car-seat before wishing them well.

John Winchester tucked his wife under one arm as he picked up the carry-seat in his other hand, his son scowling at the world from under his little blue hat, clearly unimpressed at being moved, his skinny fingers flexing when the wind hit them as soon as they stepped outside. Before the baby could begin crying, the trio hurried to their vehicle, the parents panicking slightly when they couldn’t immediately fit the baby seat onto the Impala’s back-seat.

“Let’s agree to take this one day at a time.” Mary muttered as she collapsed onto the front bench seat, John sitting down beside her, chuckling as his head rested against the steering wheel. Their eyes met.

“That sounds like a plan.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Asseel,” Mary flinched at her son’s cry, her eyes widening as the word registered and she hurried to where she’d left her son playing on the rug in the front room.

“What did you say Dean?”

“Mama asseel?” her little boy had pulled himself up against the couch where he always began his cruising around the room ever since he’d grown confident enough to stand up without one of his parents supporting him. He caught his mother scowling at him and his bottom lip stuck out, quivering as his eyes filled with tears. With a sigh, Mary went to scoop up her sensitive son, scrunching up her nose and huffing against his cheek until her little boy began to giggle, his laugh still in its baby stage.

“What you up to huh?” she asked when he settled in her arms, his own little arms wrapping as far around her neck as they could go.

“Asseel mama,” he said softly, lifting his head to twist around to face the couch, gesturing with one of his pudgy hands, “Asseel pay?” she blinked at the couch, clearly seeing that there was nothing on the seat cushions as if he wanted her to reach something that he couldn’t on his own. He wriggled in her arms until he was put down. Backing to the doorway, Mary watched her son reach up his hand, fingers seeming to grab something until he was very slowly stepping away from the couch, unsteady on his feet, looking for all the world like someone was guiding him before he fell on his padded diaper-butt in front of his toybox, arm tugging the air a couple of times before he was satisfied and began to play, babbling away as he lifted certain toys, offering them to the air before continuing on with the game he was playing.

He'd not long woken up from his afternoon nap, now the bundle of energy before her but seemingly content with whatever game he’d made up. She wondered if Dean had heard his father shouting asshole the other evening after someone had annoyed him at work that day. Although they were lucky that his first words had been mama and dada, rather than the swear words John always forgot he shouldn’t be using around their son.

With the roast in the oven and most of the chores she’d wanted done now completed while Dean had been down for his nap, Mary settled on the couch, just watching her little boy who at a year and a half old had been a little bit slow to walk and talk but seemed to understand what was going on around him better than his parents. She watched her little boy playing, cruising round the room as he babbled away, the only word that she could understand was this “asstiel”, though she was still none the wiser to what it was.

Castiel watched the small toddler squinting at him, shaking the brightly painted wooden block in his direction. One glance at the boy’s mother had him carefully folding himself onto the floor, refusing to take the proffered toy. There was a disapproving tone to the next few minutes of baby talk, the toddler twisting so that he now wasn’t facing the angel.

He waited until Mary had fallen asleep, his shining blue eyes watching the boy still scowling at him from where he was holding onto the seat. With a thought, Castiel commanded his fingers to become somewhat corporeal, able to pick up a small red fire truck, pushing it hard enough that it raced across the wooden floorboards and bounced off the boy’s socked foot. He gave a squeal of delight, dropping down onto his bottom to clumsily roll the car back towards the angel.

The two of them rolled the small vehicle between them, the little boy giggling every time it bounced off his legs when his uncoordinated grabs for the toy missed, until Mary Winchester began to wake. She blinked at her son’s almost angry screeches, saw him scowling at a car that was several feet away.

“Who knew,” Mary spoke, leaning down to sweep her little boy up into her arms, “That someone so small could make so much noise!” Now he was screeching for a different reason, laughing until tears rolled down his cheeks as his mother blew raspberries on his neck and cheeks.


	3. Chapter 3

“Momma, Cassiel is here,” the little boy turned to grin at the angel, missing his mother’s blank stare because she didn’t see her son’s imaginary friend. The little boy wriggled off his mother’s lap, calling to his friend to go and play.

“Dean wash your hands first,” she called after him, watching her son pout dramatically but nudge his steps to the sink and climb up. Mary moved to help him turn on the faucet, leaning forward to kiss the top of his head as she took his hands in her own, rubbing soap over his soft skin. She thought of his imaginary friend, the one who he’d named as soon as he had begun to talk and was still a strong presence in his life two years later.

“Dean what does Cassiel look like?”

“Huh momma?”

“Your friend Cassiel,” she began drying his hands with the hand towel, “What does he look like?” He let his mother lift him into her arms, holding him close as she settled him back on her lap at the table once more.

“Who’s Cassiel?”

“Your friend?”

“No momma, there’s a tuh in his name,” Mary frowned, and her son frowned along with her, his mouth moving as though he was sounding things out in his head, “Cas-t-el.” He muttered, scowling like he wasn’t happy with what he’d just said. His mother thought about the way he lisped on words with long ess sounds.

“Do you mean Castiel?” her little boy nodded enthusiastically, and she wondered where she’d heard the name before.

“Cassiel, he’s taller than daddy,” Dean began, squinting at the doorway, “Big, blue, blue eyes.” Mary frowned.

“Is he a boy like you?”

“No momma he’s a grown up like you and daddy.” Fear went through her at the thought that her son’s imaginary friend was a grown man.

“Where did you meet him?”

“He’s always been here momma.” Worriedly, her fingers ran through his dark blond hair, thinking about how her little boy would always circumvent the play park by himself, rarely interacting with the other children, though never rude when others approached him.

“I thought Castiel was a little boy like you.”

“No momma, he looks after me,” he frowned up at his mother, his button nose scrunching up as he squinted in thought, “You said angels watch over me.” With a soft smile, she kissed his forehead.

“He’s an angel?”

“Uh huh. His wings are black.”

“Black wings huh?”

“Yep. Can I go play now?”

“Go on then,” Mary let him slide off her lap and run from the room, deciding that she’d speak to John when he got home about setting up more playdates for their son. That is, if he actually came home from work and didn’t go straight to a bar and someone else’s bed. They’d been fighting since the topic of Dean starting kindergarten had come up. She thought he was too little, even for pre-kindergarten but John wanted their son to toughen up. They’d come to blows after John had taken Dean to the barbers and cut his gorgeous blond hair almost to his scalp. Apparently, he’d thought that their son had looked too much like a girl, which was absurd.

With a thought on the name, she left the dishes soaking in the sink and went upstairs to the bookcase they kept on the landing, crouching down to run her fingers along the spine of the books she’d brought since she’d moved into the house. It had been a year or so before she’d become pregnant with Dean that she’d developed a real interest in Angels, buying every book she came across on the topic. There was one small book with a red material spine that she slid from the shelf, it wasn’t much bigger than her hand and she carried it down the stairs, going to settle on the couch, watching her son playing as she opened the book to the contents page.

It was a book that listed all known Angels, those mentioned in any religion, with a description and image on each page. She ran her finger down the list of names, past Abaddon and Azrael, Balthazar and Camael, her finger settling on Cassiel and finding that there was no Castiel. With a confused sigh, she flipped through to find Cassiel’s information page.

Cassiel (Known also as Emmanuel), (Name meaning “God is my anger”) is classed as one of the seven Archangels and appears in Jewish, Christian and Islamic Literature. He is often listed as the Angel of Saturn and Saturday, Angel of Tears and Temperance and the Angel who watches over the death of Kings.

Castiel – is also known as the Angel of Tears and Solitude; and the Angel of Thursday. It is unknown whether Castiel and Cassiel are one and the same angel as there are many similarities between them.

Mary looked over at her son as he played, wondering where he’d heard the name Castiel, because she’d barely looked at her angel books since he was born, settling instead to always tell him that angels were watching over him. A worried hand ran over her rounding stomach, the movement attracting her three-year-old son. He pushed to his feet, nose scrunched up as he leant against her knees, staring up at her with those bright green eyes.

“’Kay Momma?”

“Yeah baby.” With his nose still wrinkled, he covered his mother’s hands with his own small ones. His brow creased as he stared before looking up at her.

“Sore tummy?” Carefully, she lifted her son onto her lap, hugging him close as she began to explain that there was going to be a baby coming to live with them in a few months, watching the way his eyes lit up at the prospect of a little brother or sister, having someone to play with now that he was a week off his fourth birthday and the few friends he had all had siblings, someone to play with that wasn’t imaginary.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm procrastinating my disso, six assignments and exam revision, on top of the deaths I've experienced this week, which means "hey new chapter". Enjoy, while I try and light a fire under my ass to get some work done!!!

Mary couldn’t believe how her oldest son was when his little brother Samuel was born, immediately wanting to help, watching his mother closely so that he could copy her the next time. unlike John, Dean didn’t squirm away from diaper-changes or burping the baby while dodging the milky-sick he liked to projectile vomit. Never once did he do what her friends had warned her, never seemed to resent the fact there was a new baby in the house.

It was only a couple of weeks later that Mary walked into the nursery, panicking when her newborn son was missing from his crib. She ran through the house, finding neither Dean nor John – though her missing husband wasn’t surprising – almost tripping over her eldest as she skidded into the front room, the four-year-old sprawled out on the rug, shaking rattles at his brother, a half empty bottle lying beside them.

“Dean,” Mary collapsed on the ground, scooping her baby off the floor, seeing the confused pout on Dean’s face as his game was stopped, “You need to tell me if you take your brother anywhere. I thought I told you not to carry him down the stairs.”

“But momma you were sleeping and I know how to make bottles now,” he said softly, looking down at his hands sadly, “You was crying, I heard you, you said no one helps you,” her son crawled onto his mother’s lap, curling himself around his brother, “I just wanna help momma.” Her heart ached, realizing that Dean had heard her last night on the phone to John, hissing that he was never there to help raise his sons. Dean wrapped his arms around his mother, the three of them sitting in silence until Sam began squirming, uncomfortable.

“Come on Sammy,” Dean murmured, taking his brother to go and play. In all honestly, Mary didn’t know what she would do without Dean. His attentiveness towards his brother meant that she could take a bath or have a twenty-minute nap on days when Sam kept her up through the night. He entertained his brother when he was hungry, giving his mother an extra pair of hands when she was trying to do everything at once. He didn’t complain on the days when Mary was too tired to make them anything more that peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches, didn’t complain when she forgot to cut off the crusts. In all honesty, he was a Godsend and she always made sure to tell him that his angels were watching over him.

 ~~~~~~~~~~

Suddenly, Sammy was six months old and Dean spent hours demonstrating how to talk and crawl, trying to get his brother on the move, wanting to play with him but also content to sit and play peek-a-boo until Mary was tempted to slam a cupboard door on her head, the repetition annoyed her as much as it warmed her heart.

“Candy momma?” Dean ran into the kitchen, “Sammy wants some hal’ween candy.”

“Oh he does, does he?” Mary grinned down at her son, hearing Sammy’s screech of protest at being left alone. Dean hurried away, only reappearing with his little brother in his arms. Mary watched him wrestle the baby into the highchair, kneeling on his own chair to accept the pumpkin shaped tub that Dean had filled with candy the night before.

“Find a piece of chocolate for Sammy, okay kiddo? Nothing hard.” Dean nodded, rummaging through the tub, Sammy trying to reach a shiny wrapped candy that had rolled across the table, babbling away when it stopped just out of his reach, his palm slapping on the tray in anger, “Oi, my little caveman, grunting away there.” Dean giggled at the nickname as Sammy squinted at his mother for a moment before he decided that blowing a raspberry was an appropriate response. The noise sent Dean into a fit of laughter, his body thrown back hard enough that he almost fell off his chair.

“You found anything, Mr. giggle-monster,” Mary said fondly, reaching into the tub and pulling out a roll of life-savers. Dean held out his hand, several silver Hershey’s kisses sitting on his palm, “Perfect.” Dean grinned, handing over the chocolate before rummaging through the candy for a small bag of sour skittles. Sammy was babbling away as Mary fed small pieces of chocolate to him, Dean pulling faces to make his brother laugh as he ate the sour candies. Mary watched her boys, smiling as she realized that she didn’t need anything more than them to make her day a hundred times better.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Momma?” Dean cried for his mommy as he hurried towards her cries. She wasn’t in her room and neither was his daddy and he didn’t know why, “Mommy?” Sammy’s door was open, and a funny light was inside. He ran inside, hoping to find his mommy but there was only Sammy, crying on his tummy like he did when he got stuck. It was hot in Sammy’s room and Dean didn’t like it.

“Mommy?”

“Dean take your brother to daddy!” he didn’t see where mommy was speaking from, but he released the latch on the cot just like his mommy had shown him, bundling his brother up into a hug. Sammy’s hands held onto his ears and Dean flinched, yanking back his head. That’s when he saw where mommy was. On the ceiling.

“Mommy!”

“Run Dean!”

“Cassiel! Help me!” Dean tried to run with his brother, but mommy always told him to be careful with the baby because he was only small. He kept shouting for his angel to come and help him, to help his mommy, over and over, tears running down his cheeks and Sammy crying in his ear. Halfway down the stairs, strong arms lifted him into the air, holding him and Sammy to their chest. soft feathers ran over Dean’s spine and he collapsed against his angel, clutching his baby brother to his chest.

Castiel knelt on the grass under the oak tree in the far corner of the front yard, the six-month-old baby in one arm, Dean struggling to find his feet in the other. The four-year-old stayed pressed against the angel even as he stood on shaky legs. Inside the house, the angel could hear John Winchester, screaming for his wife, his two sons forgotten. With a thought, Castiel had John spinning on his heels to run outside, now calling for his boys as he realized it was too late to save Mary. Solemnly, Dean accepted the baby back into his arms and turned to let himself be picked up by his father.

“Daddy where’s mommy?”

“She’s gone.”

“But daddy, I saw her on the ceiling in Sammy’s room. Why isn’t she here?”

“Because she’s not.”

“But why not daddy? I want mommy to give me a hug. Can you call her daddy?”

“For God’s sake Dean shut up.”

Castiel watched from where he stood next to the oak, watched his small charge’s eyes widen in horror before focusing on his little brother, burying his face out of sight. He couldn’t interfere any more than he already had, he couldn’t mess with demons, not on the level that would be necessary for Mary to survive.

Sirens indicated the arrival of the emergency services and John left his sons to go and speak to the professionals. Dean looked lost, the fire erupting from the windows of his home, reflected in his green eyes. Castiel moved to wrap the two boys in his wings, seeing the minute way that Dean relaxed, settling on the ground as the adrenalin drained from his body, now unable to keep a stable hold on the baby.

“You’ll be alright Dean,” the angel said quietly, letting his presence wrap around the child, trying to take the weight of his world off his small shoulders.

“I want momma,” the boy whispered, leaning into the angel. They fell silent, waiting for John to return or for the fire to be put out, whichever came first. Castiel caught Dean as he slumped forward in exhaustion, arranging the boys on the grass, his wings still around them so that they didn’t feel the cold.

“Take your boys to a hotel John,” an officer walked John over to the small sleeping forms, neither man aware that Castiel drew his wings closer, “Get some rest, there’s nothing you can do here, and they’ve only got you now.” John nodded as he crouched down, picking the baby up. The sudden lack of his brother had Dean startling awake with a yelp. He froze when he saw his father, eyeing his brother. As if he knew the officer was still watching, John reached for Dean’s hand.

“Come on, we’re going to a hotel.” Dean’s hand looked tiny against his father’s and he opened his mouth, a garbled noise bubbling up from his throat. He didn’t manage to manipulate them into words though as he trailed behind his father, twisting so that he could keep watching the house until he was bundled into the back of the muscle car.

Castiel stayed at the house long enough to make sure that the soul of Mary Winchester was on its way to Heaven, glad when he discovered that she was already there, settled in her favorite memories. Searching for the peace to deal with the oncoming grief, he flew to the motel carpark that John had parked his vehicle in, surprised to see the two boys curled up in the backseat and their father nowhere to be seen. A hand on the trunk, he closed his eyes, searching the vicinity for John, only to find him not in the motel reception getting a room but in the bar down the road.

He pulled on the door handle, but it was locked. It was true that he could just appear in the vehicle, but it was likely that he’d end up squishing both boys. Gently, he reached out to tap the tip of his wing on the window, watching Dean startle upright and peer at him through the glass though he didn’t move any more than that.

“Dean, will you unlock the door?”

“Cassiel?”

“Yes Dean, let me into the vehicle,” the little boy reached over his brother to lift the lock, shifting back when Castiel moved to open the door, manipulating his form so that he could fit inside. With a quick check on Samuel, the angel scooped Dean up into the warmth of his wings and arms, holding the boy close. It was then that the boy began to sob, burying his face into Castiel’s wings as his small body shook. Castiel could to nothing but hug him close to his Grace, offering himself up as comfort for the boy, however he was needed.


	5. Chapter 5

“S’okay Sammy, s’okay. Everything’s gunna be okay.” The words were whispered over and over, a small nose pressing into the crying baby’s forehead, thin arms struggling to keep rocking him, “Hey Jude, don’t be afraid, take a sad song and make it better. Nah nah nah nah nah nah, nah nah nah, hey Jude .” Sammy finally stopped crying, sniffling away as he stared at his brother, letting the older boy wipe away the snot and tears, head tilted to listen to the humming. Dean cradled the baby’s head, letting the baby press his face into his shoulder.  
Dean sat on the bed, waiting for his daddy to come home, waiting in the dark, his head falling forward only to jerk up whenever he startled himself awake. He finally succumbed to sleep, his five-year old body giving into exhaustion, only waking when the weight was lifted from his arms. His eyes flew open, gasping.  
“Sammy!”  
The sudden bright light had him curling up, squinting at the giant shadow above him, rapidly blinking until he recognized his daddy standing over him, Sammy balanced in one arm. John’s hand shot out, fingers twisting in the front of Dean’s t-shirt, lifting the boy off the mattress. Dean squirmed, tears in his eyes when his daddy leaned in close, the bad smell on his breath bringing tears to his green eyes because daddy was always angry when he smelled like that.  
“You little shit,” his daddy snarled, throwing Dean onto the bed, leaving Sammy on the other bed, glaring at the older boy when he moved towards the baby. John watched his boy, having listened to him call out for his brother, when he’d not spoken for months now. He couldn’t hold back the anger and backhanded his son across the face. The boy fell from the bed, scrambling away to hide under the table. John stumbled after him, cursing up a storm at how his son dared to remain silent. With the money he’d spent on doctors and specialists, it was the final straw to find out that he’d been speaking to the baby all this time.

Castiel wasn’t sure what had called him to the motel, but John was not there, and it took several glances around the room before he spotted Dean curled up in the corner of the room, tears streaming silently down his face as his face swelled, bruises forming. On the bed, little Sammy was squirming uncomfortably, beginning to cry when he realized that his brother wasn’t immediately picking him up. Gently, Castiel sent a wave of his grace over to the baby, finding his diaper to need changing. A thought had that dealt with that and he warded the room, flying off in search of the name that was ingrained in the core of his grace.  
He found the human male, across the country in Illinois, nearly eleven years old. The angel considered the boy. As long as he had permission, Castiel could enter the boy but the question was whether he wanted too. In theory, it’d be easy for him to meet up with the future, older Jimmy Novak but that could take several days to find him and convince him to let Castiel in. Dean needed him now.  
The boy was asleep, book open on his chest as if he’d been too tired to stay awake long enough to find a bookmark and put it to one side. Pausing to watch the boy’s chest rise and fall, Castiel steeled himself before slipping into the boy’s dreams, going in to ask his question. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Castiel stumbled when his young vessel began to move, twelve-year-old Jimmy Novak laughing in the back of his head. The small body was a complete shock to the angel’s system, shrinking his size to an extent where nearly everything was above him, not a position he was best pleased with.  
*Are you ready?”  
*I get to be with my family?*  
“Of course, Jimmy*  
*Alright. Promise everyone will be okay though*  
*Yes Jimmy, I promise.*  
From the back of his mind, the angel felt the twelve-year-old take a deep breath and agree. With a thought, Castiel enclosed Jimmy’s conscience in a memory bubble, bringing back his parents and sister, reuniting the family so that they could “grow up” together.  
“Thank you, Jimmy,” Castiel said softly, casting an eye around the dorm room, checking that the other abandoned boys were still asleep before he zapped away, flying back to the motel. The parking lot was just as empty as when he’d left and with small hands, he removed the sigil in the warding that kept him from entering the motel room. Taking a breath, he opened the door, slipping inside in time to see a small figure scramble across one of the two beds.  
“Go away!”  
Castiel reached for the light switch that was now above his head, the yellow bulbs revealing a terrified five-year-old, kneeling on the bed, arms shaking as they held a long shot gun that the boy probably didn’t even know how to use. He offered a smile, hands raised is placation.  
“Hello Dean,” the little boy flinched and Castiel had to admit that Jimmy Novak had a deeper voice than he probably should have.  
“Who’re you?” Dean’s voice was raspy from disuse and his small arms finally dropped the gun so that the muzzle rested on the mattress.  
“I’m Castiel.”  
“Don’t look like Cassiel,” the angel let the door shut behind him as he moved closer to the bed, realizing that it hadn’t occurred to him, that Dean knew what his true form looked like, had seen his tall ethereal form, seen his black wings, seen him.  
“I know Dean,” he moved onto the bed, gently easing the gun from his little hands, “I have to look like this now to look after you.” Beneath light brown hair, Dean sniffed, shifting so that he could see Castiel’s eyes.  
“Daddy’s mad,” he whispered, watching the older boy warily as Castiel lifted a fussy Sammy from his little pillow prison.  
“I know.”  
“Don’t wanna make daddy mad,” Castiel arranged the two boys on the bed before going to the tiny kitchenette to prepare a bottle for the baby.  
“Why’s he mad Dean?” Castiel asked as he opened the mini fridge. When there was no answer, Castiel looked over his shoulder to see that Dean was cradling his little brother to his chest. He looked terrified and the angel worried his bottom lip.  
“Have you eaten Dean?”  
“No.”  
With a nod, Castiel reached onto the fridge and began pulling out what he hoped were the makings of a sandwich, finding half a white loaf on the counter beside several small jars filled with something orange.  
“Is this for Sammy?” Castiel asked, holding up a jar. He startled when he found Dean standing directly behind him. The boy nodded and dragged a chair from the table where Sammy was sitting in a carry-seat on the table-top. Castiel was quietly pushed aside, the angel watching the boy remove the lid from the jar and carefully shake yellow powder into a bottle of water, before putting both into the microwave.  
There was silence as the machine did its thing, the angel turning to the baby when he began to fuss again. Hazel eyes studied the angel as Sammy began gumming away on his fist. Gently, Castiel ran his fingers through the wisps of brown hair on the baby’s head, jumping slightly when Dean appeared, slipping the teat between Sammy’s lips with practiced ease.  
“I’ll feed him Dean,” Castiel murmured, “There’s a sandwich on the counter for you.”  
“That’s daddy’s food,” scared green eyes looked up at the angel, “Said he buys it for good boys. Not allowed to eat till I’m a good boy.” Castiel stood up, swallowing at the sudden urge to smite John Winchester. He passed over the sandwich, nudging the boy until he was able to switch the plate for the baby, promising that neither Winchester boy would be left to deal with their father on their own. As long as he was here, neither of them would go hungry, or cold, or stay in danger.  
It wasn’t long before the plate was left on the mattress and Dean had tucked himself under Castiel’s arm, his hand falling on his little brother’s legs as the baby suckled the last of his milk, eyes shut. Slowly, the angel eased the teat from his mouth, putting the bottle down before he let his fingers rest against Dean’s temple, heel of his hand just above the boy’s ear as he sent a pulse of healing grace through the child, watching the bruises slide from his skin, listening to the first deep, easy breath Dean had taken since he’d arrived.


End file.
